


I am also a we

by Morimel



Category: Sense8 (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Related, Commander Lexa, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Deviates From Canon, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Inspired By Sense8, Lesbian Character, Love, M/M, Martial Arts, Multi, Original Character(s), POV Clarke Griffin, POV Lexa, POV Original Character, POV Raven Reyes, Straight Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morimel/pseuds/Morimel
Summary: What would happen if Clarke, Lexa and Raven, woke up as members of a 5-member sense8 cluster, a few days before the Delinquents were sent to the ground?The good ol' The 100 Canon story with a twist!ExcerptLexa looked mildly perplexed. Granted, learning that there were people living in space for the past hundred years wasn’t the night’s most mind-boggling information. Lexa’s next question confirmed just that.“How are you understanding what I am saying? Where did you learn to speak the forest language?”“Do you mean English? I only speak English.”“But not once have I used English in our conversation.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys!
> 
> This is a mashup of my favorite 2 tv shows. The setting and characters are from the 100, but with a Sense8 twist. So here is my take on the lives of a group of Homo Sensorium in roughly 150 years from now.
> 
> DISCLAIMER
> 
> This is a Clexa story and I won't mess up this pairing, since it's the main reason I am writing it. 
> 
> BUT it is also a story about diversity and inclusion, and so we are also going to see other characters' POVs who might be straight, bisexual, gay and whatever else comes up. I am still very early in the writing process and I don't want to limit myself. 
> 
> Also, there might be some explicit scenes down the line. I will change the Rating appropriately if so.
> 
> MUSIC  
> I find [Mr Sandman by SYML](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbPsIWto5PY&list=PLj3NBd4LcjIibiIUns3X5eV6r-NJ_drjP&index=7) creates the proper atmosphere for this chapter.
> 
> Or check my [Master Clexa/Sense8 Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqxWGl61p28&list=PLj3NBd4LcjIiqjhT8WBzmRByZkotbHro3).
> 
> TUMBLR  
> Find updates, teasers and music playlists for this fic on [clexasense8au](https://clexasense8au.tumblr.com/).

 

Clarke used her finger to smudge the reflection of the moon on the surface of the lake. As the charcoal shadow softened under her touch, her finger absentmindedly set out to retrace the lines that formed the image she had been dreaming about for days, stumbling upon the occasional crack on the padding of the weathered wall. It traveled from the calm water, to the rocks that were perched above the lake, to the lush canopy of trees and the birds that were on their way to reach the full moon above.

It wasn’t the first time she had dreamed of the Earth; of her feet sinking in the soft, grounding sand; of her body being engulfed by the cool water, taking away her worries, just like the characters in her favorite books described. But the dreams she had been having lately were more frequent and more detailed than ever, immersing her in settings that had her creativity demanding release on every white surface available around her. Unjustifiably detailed, her mind insisted, having only ever experienced the Earth through the narratives of writers and directors of generations long gone.

Maybe it was her headache. Or maybe it was her subconscious need to escape that had reached new levels the past few months. Whatever the reason for her unusual night travels, she had never been more inspired to draw in her life. And that, considering her situation, was a gift she was thankful for. At least focusing on her art took her mind off the absurdness that was her life: stranded on the Ark, a space station that hovered around the Earth, forced to remain in solitary confinement to keep her from revealing the people living with her they were all going to die soon.

Some would argue absurd was not the right word. Unfortunate, tragic, desperate.

No, Clarke wasn’t one for despair.

The surface of the wall felt cool to the touch and, without really thinking about it, she placed her forehead against it, in a subconscious effort to ease the ache that had been pestering her for days. She groaned for the brief and unsatisfying relief. Pulling back, she took a final look at her work. It was undeniably her best work yet, but her ever-searching eye noted one or two points that could still be improved: a few shadows under the trees here, some highlights on the canopy there, anything that might make the black and white forest come alive under the moonlight.

She relented to the persistent pain in her head and dropped her body on the bunk she had come to call her bed. With a sigh, she lay back, allowing her body to be enveloped by the soothing familiarity of the uncomfortable surface. The thin pillow had little to offer against the throbbing in her head, but still she relaxed against it, letting it at least deal with the burden of carrying her annoying head for a while.

“I could really use a painkiller now mom,” she whispered to herself.

Her constant nagging had forced the guards to bring her to the medical bay twice that week. But after several tests that had come clean and her mother’s exaggerated insistence to run more unnecessary tests in the hopes she would keep her daughter close to her a little longer, the guards decided to turn a deaf ear to her whining.

“You just couldn’t be cool, could you?” she whispered through a bitter smile. For a practiced doctor, head of medical and a member of the governing council of the Ark, her mother had lost her resolve surprisingly fast when she saw her daughter being carried to the medical bay. Clarke couldn’t blame her though. She had lost a husband to space and a daughter to prison all in one day. That kind of thing breaks people. And Clarke wasn’t sure what was worse: not being able to see her mother at all or seeing her desperately trying to hold her broken pieces from falling apart.

“A little more patience mom.” In the six months she had spent in her stifling new home, Clarke had only seen her mother–or anyone for that matter–during her recent visits to medical. Visitations were naturally prohibited for those in solitary, even though talking to her mother couldn’t really cause anyone any harm. With the severity of the information she had accidentally been disclosed however, and the strict measures already in place on the Ark, Clarke was lucky she was even alive.

But her birthday was coming up in a couple of months and her grace period would end along with her childhood. Hopefully, her case would be reviewed, and she would be set free instead of executed by being floated into space. Well, she might not be desperate, but she wasn’t really hopeful either. Neither was her mother. Coming of age wouldn’t make her unlearn the truth Chancellor Jaha was so afraid she would share with the rest of the passengers of the Ark. A truth that had her father executed in minutes.

A light sting from her left hand reeled her wandering thoughts back in. Even after so many months, the image of her father being sucked into space still sent her rage clawing up her chest and curled her hands into trembling fists. She opened the fist that had sent her the warning sting to find she had been stifling the little piece of charcoal, which had taken its revenge by blackening every inch of her palm and fingers.

She tucked the charcoal under her pillow and rubbed her hands together and then on her clothes in an effort to get rid of some of the black stain. All she managed to do was blacken both her hands and add even more smudges on the worn fabric of her once white pants. She accepted there was no point in trying to look clean or decent and used her smudged hand to wipe the few tears that had escaped down her face. With no mirrors around and the visits to the washing room a few days apart from each other, she had no doubt her face and blond hair looked as dirty as her clothes. She had never cared less.

She turned her focus back on the walls around her. The sun was slowly leaving her cell, taking with it the images of the Earth and her father that filled her empty days. It was her favorite time of the day, when the sun peered through her window and cast its warm light on her creations. It didn’t last long, for the window was small and the Ark’s circular movement around itself continuous. But it happened a few times during the day and Clarke had come to cherish those meetings with the sun as a soothing constant that gave her life pace and connected her with something beyond her own thoughts.

She stayed there, watching the sun disappear, until her headache forced her to close her eyes. As her breathing slowed down and random images danced in front of her closed eyes, her father’s smiling figure claimed what remained of her conscious mind. He offered his hand to Clarke and she let him lead the way to wherever tonight’s dream would bring her.

***

When she opened her eyes, the headache was gone. So was the ceiling. And the walls around her. As her mind struggled to focus on something familiar, her hands traced the bedding she had been sleeping on. Instead of her worn sheets, she felt something soft and hairy. That kick-started her brain.

Sitting up, she looked around her, forcing her breathing to stay measured against the attack of the surroundings on her senses. As the initial sensory overload subsided, her body started to pick out unfamiliar stimuli that her mind matched with familiar words for the first time in her life: the smell of pine trees and humid earth and burnt wood; the gentle rustle of the leaves being moved by the light breeze; the incredibly soothing feeling of that same cool breeze on her skin. And then, she looked up, at nature’s most prolific artist and for the first time in her life she was in awe. The full moon was staring at her, bold and kind, and Clarke felt like she had just been born.

Could a dream be this vivid?

“Who are you?” a voice intruded on her intimate moment with the moon. “How did you get past my guards?”

Clarke looked at the woman that had emerged from the tree line not far from her, her eyes instantly locking on the thing she was pointing at her. Was that a knife? The moment the realization dawned on her, Clarke moved to get up, but before she could make any sense of where the bedding covering her begun and where it ended, the woman reached her and grabbed her from behind, holding the knife against her throat.

This dream was quickly going downhill.

“I asked you a question. Who are you and how did you get past my guards without alerting anyone?”

Although the direness of the situation hadn’t escaped her, Clarke was thrown off by another wave of new sensations. The iron blade felt cool against her pulse, and although it didn’t draw blood, it stung a little when she forced down a gulp in an effort to regain her voice. Strong arms held her in place, tightening their grip around her when she tried to move and bringing the steady breath even closer against her ear. The smell of leather and rust and something she could only describe as earthy, even though she had never experienced anything earthy before, threatened to absorb her completely from the rest of the scene.

This wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be.

“Those are two questions.” The answer came out without her brain’s consent and Clarke mentally cursed her big mouth and better judgement for going rogue once again. Just like the time she ended up in solitary. So much for a ‘correctional’ institution. “I mean, I don’t know, and I didn’t see any guards!”

“Do not mock me.” Although low, there was nothing soft about her voice. “I have guards on a three-hundred-feet radius. It’s impossible to get here without alerting anyone. You aren’t carrying any weapons, so tell me, how?” Clarke realized a hand had left its original position around her waist and was now purposefully roaming her body, in what she assumed was a search for hidden weapons under her meager clothing. This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she said she had missed human contact, and she was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Unable to think of a way to manipulate her way out of the situation, or to think of anything really, she just went with honesty, hoping to convey with her voice how lost she was with what was happening; probably more than the woman who at least looked more at home in the forest than Clarke would ever be.

“Lexa, I honestly don’t know. I just woke up here.” That had them both flinching.

Clarke opened her mouth to apologize for assuming the woman’s name was Lexa, but her mouth decided to form a different question. “How do I know your name?”

“Who doesn’t know the Commander’s name?” said Lexa with a scoff, yet she looked as unsure as Clarke felt for some reason.

Clarke’s brain sped up again. A commander? As in the military? She was definitely the fighting type. “I’m so sorry, but I honestly don’t understand what is going on or how I got here, you have to believe me.”

The woman–Lexa, apparently–held her position, but didn’t repeat her question. After a few moments, she reluctantly withdrew her hands, releasing Clarke and standing up straight. She looked down at Clarke, noticing her, eyes pausing every now and then, finding answers or more questions–Clarke couldn’t tell. All she could do was try to look as harmless as possible. Finally, Lexa gave the knife a spin, tucked it to its sheathe and moved to sit next to Clarke.

Clarke took a moment to appreciate the grace with which Lexa moved; the same person that only a moment ago had forced her still with her bare hands, now moved like a seasoned dancer. She flowed into a sitting position holding her spine straight, with a comfortable ease Clarke could only assume came with years of training. Lexa didn’t look at her right away. Instead, she seemed to consider her next words, the situation obviously demanding more delicate wording than they both were used to.

“I do believe you.” Her voice was as calm as before, but warmer and careful. “But I don’t understand why,” she added, her eyes finally looking at Clarke.

“Because I’m telling the truth?”

“Yes. You are. But why am I so certain of it? I have no reason to be.”

“The same way I know your name is Lexa?”

“And your name is Clarke.”

Clarke nodded, and Lexa finally seemed to relent to the strangeness of the situation, letting down the last of her guard.

“Alright, so you just woke up and you were here. In my bed.” That had Clarke looking down at herself, realizing what a strange view she must have offered, sitting on the ground, in a bedding made of fur, wearing the prison’s dull, overused outfit that hung loosely on her body and was clearly unfit for a night walk in the chilling forest, looking around her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Like an idiot. Great. “And although I have never met you, I know your name,” Lexa continued, unbothered by or unaware of Clarke’s flustered expression.

Clarke, however, had another, more pressing question she needed answered.

“Are we really on Earth?”

“Where else could we be?” asked Lexa, after a brief pause during which she seemed to debate the seriousness of Clarke’s question.

“I have never been on Earth before.”

“You mean you are from the Mountain?” Lexa looked alarmed.

“I don’t know which mountain you are referring to. I live up there,” Clarke said and pointed at the sky.

“The sky? How is that possible?”

“Space, to be more accurate. And I could ask you the same thing about living on Earth.”

“Humans have always lived on Earth.”

“Not as far as my people know. After the nuclear apocalypse, some 97 years ago, we thought there were no people left on Earth. We didn’t think the Earth was survivable, so we stayed in space.”

Lexa looked mildly perplexed. Granted, learning that there were people living in space for the past hundred years wasn’t the night’s most mind-boggling information. Lexa’s next question confirmed just that.

“How are you understanding what I am saying? Where did you learn to speak the forest language?”

“Do you mean English? I only speak English. Wait, don’t you?”

“I do. But not once have I used English in our conversation.”

That was one odd piece too many in the ever-growing puzzle of certainties and uncertainties that were trying to sort themselves out inside Clarke’s head. She was beginning to fear her headache would return with a vengeance. She decided to change the subject into something her conscious mind could process with less effort.

“Why are you in the forest? Do you live here?” There was a lot of mismatched visual information that confused Clarke as to where the woman came from. The bedding they were sitting on seemed to be made of crude animal hides. But the pot on the fire in front of her, reminded her of the mass-produced pots they used on the Ark. And then, there were Lexa’s clothes: a collage of weathered materials. Her long black leather coat had a fur inner coating and several metal points, chains and clasps. Yet her thick leggings hugged her body in a way only a synthetic material could. Clarke hadn’t seen any guns either on Lexa or around her, the only visible weapons being the knife strapped on her thigh and a sword that lay next to the bedding.

Lexa allowed the change in subject, only hesitating for a moment. She busied her hands, gathering her long, brown curls over one shoulder, a movement that seemed to give her an outlet for her otherwise perfectly concealed uneasiness.

“No. I needed some time alone,” she finally said.

“Oh, and then I came along.” Only now had Clarke realized what an intrusion she must have been for Lexa. Maybe she had spent too much time alone in that cell after all. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to yourself,” she said, finally managing to break free of the bedding and get up. “As soon as I figure out how,” she mumbled to herself, looking around her.

“You don’t have to go,” Lexa said grabbing her hand, and Clarke froze, partly because of the forcefulness of the hold and partly because she was still expecting to wake up. Lexa looked at her own hand in disbelief and quickly let Clarke go. “If you wish to stay, I enjoy the company. As long as you are not a clan leader or a war general wishing to discuss strategy.” Lexa’s effort to regain her reserve had Clarke smile.

“I’m clear.” At Lexa’s obvious confusion she added, “I mean, I’m neither, so we’re good.” Lexa didn’t smile back, she didn’t answer, nor did she show any emotion. An almost imperceptible nod was all the woman allowed herself, but to Clarke, Lexa’s relief was loud and clear.

“Commander! Is everything ok?” the hoarse voice broke their locked eyes.

***

And just like that, Clarke was back in her cell, standing in the middle of the room, her arm still outstretched downwards, as if Lexa had just let her go. She stood perfectly still, expecting another change in scenery, preferably one that would bring back the greens and browns. Only her eyes darted from one wall to the other, looking for the woman who moments ago had grabbed her hand. Because she had grabbed her hand. She had. Hadn’t she? Well… maybe? Or maybe, solitude had finally broken her. Yup, that was it.

Her inner rant was cut short by a surge of exhaustion. Whatever that was, it had left her senses overworked. At least her headache was gone. Laying once again on the bunk, she rested her head on her hands and closed her eyes. Her mind took up its usual pre-sleep ceremony of planning new images of charcoal and plaster, but for the first time in months, she was smiling.

Sleep came easy that night and, for once, it was dreamless.

***

Lexa’s head snapped at the direction of Gustus’ voice. She looked at his alarmed state, then turned to look at Clarke. She was gone. She turned back to Gustus, whose eyes were searching the tree line around her for signs of movements. It only took her a moment to recover, her face slipping back into the commander’s facade. “Yes, Gustus.”

Gustus didn’t seem appeased. He held his position at the tree line, not stepping any further into the clearing where Lexa had set camp, obviously unsure of what to do. “Are you positive, Heda? I thought I heard you talking.” He kept looking around her, as if half-expecting a mob of bloodthirsty bandits to charge out of the shadows.

“Gustus, the point of this was for me to not be disturbed. Return to your post. Now.”

“Sha, Heda,” he answered obediently and with a short bow he dived back into the thick shadows of the forest, but not without casting a final glance around his commander.

Lexa let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and took another one in, willing her unusually active heart to calm down. She was still very confused by the experience she had just had. Clarke had disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared.

Clarke.

So many things about her challenged Lexa’s mind.

Had she really been there? Or had she been a figure created by her mind to help her cope with her burdens? That wouldn’t be new to Lexa, but it had been so much more vivid than what she was used to. It was not like the previous commanders speaking to her in her sleep or advising her whenever she actively sought their wisdom. Those came to her like memories, like an understanding she didn’t know she had. This was a real person in front of her. A person she could see and touch and smell and… feel. Yes, she had felt Clarke’s confusion, her fear when she had a knife held against her throat, and her awe when she looked at the moon. She felt like she was experiencing the forest for the first time in her life. More than that, Lexa already new all sorts of information about Clarke: that even if she was a month away from turning only 21, she already felt worn-out by her life, just like herself; that she felt trapped, much like herself; trapped by a pressing need to protect her people against an imminent danger; just like herself.

But Lexa had always been perceptive when it came to reading people, even more so after she inherited the spirit of the Commander and the task of protecting her people. What was truly perplexing, was the ease with which her normally very guarded self had relaxed next to a seemingly complete stranger. As if suddenly, she was no longer the commander of the twelve clans. As if she was a woman sitting with her best friend. No, with family. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. And it moved her beyond all other thoughts.

And then was the matter of Clarke’s origin. She said she lived in the sky. That there were other people with her. Lexa could tell she wasn’t lying about it. So, she was either crazy, or telling the truth. And humans living in the sky would give a new perspective on the origin of the First Commander, along with a big headache to the Fleimkepa.

Lexa lay back on the furs Clarke was on only moments ago, her thoughts already going over their encounter. At least for tonight, her mind had found the escape it desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let's see. This is my first attempt at a long story. Ever.  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If I made mistakes, please let me know. I probably have made more than a few since:  
> 1.English is not my first language.  
> 2\. I don't have a beta.
> 
> So this serves as a writing and a language exercise for me and constructive criticism in language use, plot, character development etc is always welcome.
> 
> Well, that's it for now! See you around!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUSIC  
> My [Clexa/Sense8 Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqxWGl61p28&list=PLj3NBd4LcjIiqjhT8WBzmRByZkotbHro3).
> 
> TUMBLR  
> Find updates, teasers and music playlists for this fic on [clexasense8au](https://clexasense8au.tumblr.com/).

 

 

She pushed the trigger, softly leaning forward, driving the screw into place. One more to go. She pulled the screwdriver back releasing the now secured screw and moved to the next one. It took a bit of aiming but the screwdriver fit into position. She was getting the hang of this.

She pushed the trigger, but nothing happened. She tried again, once, twice. “Not again!” she kept pushing repeatedly in the hopes that would provide enough of a shock to force the tool back to life. Or kill the damn thing for good. “Come on, you piece of junk!” At that, the screwdriver came alive with a jerk, slipping out of her unfocused hand. She watched as the tool floated tauntingly past her face. “Fuck!” she shouted, regretting it immediately since the only one suffering from her roaring inside her helmet were her own two ears.

Because of a capricious tool, it had taken her double the amount of time to finish changing a burnt piece of hardware. Raven’s already limited patience was being severely tested by inertia, a bulky suit, a nagging headache and now the screwdriver from hell. How was she supposed to fix things when the things she used to fix them with needed fixing too? Ah, the joys of being a mechanic on a hundred-year-old patched up space station.

She took a couple of steadying breaths and tried to get hold of the tether that was holding the screwdriver from floating away into deep space. It took her more than a few tries to get a good grip, her thick glove making micro-movements an effort, but she finally managed to grab it. One good pull and the screwdriver was floating back towards her.

“How did you like that, motherfucker? Zero g works both ways.” In a surprising feat of dexterity, she grabbed hold of the screwdriver’s handle at the right angle. She gave herself a mental high-five, refrained from doing a little victory dance for lack of mobility and went on to finish the painfully slow job she had been at for the past hour.

Once she was sure the panel was secure, she went through her spacewalking mental checklist:

  1. Screwdriver from hell: secure
  2. Tether of screwdriver: secure
  3. Favorite flashlight: where the…? Right, forgotten in her room
  4. Faulty processor for which she spent one hour with screwdriver from hell: in suitcase
  5. Suitcase: locked
  6. Bag of metal crap: tightly closed and secured on belt
  7. Oxygen level, which she should have checked 20 minutes ago: She’d live



“Alright guys, I’m coming in.”

_“If I could, I’d tell you to take your time, Raven. The Earth looks beautiful today.”_

“When doesn’t it, Wick?” She felt the tug of the tether at her back and let go of all effort, allowing her body to be pulled away from the metal ring that surrounded the Ark and towards the main part of the station. She gladly surrendered all thought to the blues and greens of the Earth, that, even with the impossible distance between them, had the inexplicable power to ground and center her.

She took a deep breath and held it in, cutting the sound of the oxygen feeding her suit, and for a moment she was immersed in complete stillness. That was her moment of contentment and meditation. A prayer to the immense globe in front of her that was lazily basking in the sun’s light; an homage to a home she had come to respect through a life away from it. Not that the planet needed it. It didn’t need anything she or any of her people had to offer. But she offered it anyway, hoping that when a human got the chance to step on the ground again, the Earth would be forgiving.

Lying on her back floating in space, free from a life of constant noise and movement, free from the tin cage and the incessant humming of its air recycling system, she was reminded she was among the luckiest of her people. She wasn’t anyone important nor had she much. Hell, she didn’t even have a family. Yet she was the one who got to walk out of the cage. She was the one who got to fly a bit closer to the Earth. She was the privileged one.

With a final look, she turned around to meet the open gate that was coming towards her. A forward flip brought her inside the airlock and as soon as her bulky boots touched the metal floor, the gate behind her closed and air violently entered the room. Once out of the gloves, her impatient hands flew to the clasps of her helmet, a well-practiced movement that had her free of it in seconds.

 _“Take it easy,”_ came Michael’s voice from the speaker. _“Pressurization isn’t complete!”_ Raven watched him panic over the buttons of the control panel, trying to speed up the process to catch up with her. Eh, she had that effect on people.

“Don’t worry boys, I’m fine.” She flashed a smile through the glass doors, one that she was sure would even have herself persuaded. “I’m on a tight schedule here, so if it isn’t too much trouble, will you please open the door for me?” She walked through the doors as soon as they opened, passing in front of a grumbling Michael and dropping a piece of her suit on the floor with every step. She only got to spend thirty minutes with Finn, and she wasn’t about to waste any of them tidying up.

“That screwdriver really doesn’t like you, does it? Too bad you’re stuck with it until death do you part,” came Wick’s change of subject, a good-natured effort to prevent any tension between the other two from rising, while following Raven and picking pieces of her suit off the floor. She thought it was nice of him, although a bit unnecessary. Okay, so she had disagreed with Michael a few times. And maybe she had thrown a boot at him once. Alright, it was a hammer, she had thrown a hammer at Michael. That didn’t mean they needed a referee. She wasn’t a wild animal.

“Oh, I’m not done with it just yet.” She was struggling to reach the zipper of her suit’s protective undergarment and Wick was quick to get it for her, before turning around to give her some privacy. “I’ll spend the night with it. Then we’ll see what it has to say.”

Raven liked Wick. They had only been working together for a few weeks, but they had quickly fallen into a comfortable rhythm, which made for a smooth workflow. Plus, he was generally perky, as opposed to Michael who looked like he was born with a grudge. Yeah, their life was shit. They might as well have a laugh out of it.

“It’s visitation day at the Skybox,” Wick offered Michael, who was now gathering Raven’s tools and placing them back in her utility belt, obviously annoyed. “We can’t have Finn waiting, can we?”

“And that’s why I have to ask you boys to kindly tidy up here,” she added as she walked past Michael, grabbing the belt from his hands and clasping it around her waist.

“Cause that’s a first,” she heard Michael mumble behind her. Well, at least she had asked nicely this time.

Raven hasted down the busy corridors of Mecha Station, pushing through workers who were finishing up their shifts. She usually spent work hours isolated in her workshop or spacewalking, so when she got to walk around the Ark, most people were either in the dining or the living quarters. She rarely had the chance to witness the buzz of rush hour, the packed corridors, the thick air, the scowling faces.

Once again, she thought of how blessed she was to have found her calling among the mechanics. At least she got to enjoy her work-laden days, doing something she liked in a mostly peaceful environment, as opposed to many others, who were forced into obligatory labor, doing all sorts of tedious administrative and operational tasks. Being a philosopher or an artist was not going to earn them the day’s rations.

A short detour brought her at the back door of the kitchen quarter. She noticed low voices coming through the half-open door and, after looking around her to make sure she was alone, she pushed the door open. The voices ceased the moment she walked inside. She was welcomed by the heavy smell of raw vegetables and as her mind was busy coming up with an appropriate comment, her elbow hit a large bowl of water that was resting on a table on her left, pushing it dangerously close to the edge.

“Woops!” Her hand instinctively went to protect the bowl from falling, only to give it that extra push it needed to topple over. It hit the floor with a loud bang and went on to dance a few circles, scattering water all around. “My bad,” she called out above the noise, raising her hand in the air for good measure. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” She took a step toward the mess, but her foot landed in a puddle and slipped. She managed to grab the edge of the table and stop herself midfall in an awkward half-split. “I spend all day inhaling welding fumes with no problem, but give me a whiff of garlic and I turn into a graceless vampire. What’s up with that?”

She flashed a smile to the only two other people in the room, after resuming a safe standing position. Nygel, who was sitting in the center of the room remained focused on the potato she was peeling, seemingly unbothered by the commotion. The guy standing next to her, on the other hand, was fuming, staring at Raven as if she had called him an idiot. Well, if she _had_ called him an idiot he would probably have been one. And if they didn’t want to be interrupted, they should have closed the door. It’s called common sense for a reason.

“Ben, why don’t you go fetch the mop?” Nygel’s voice was calm, her eyes never leaving her task. The man just stared at her for a moment, the effort to keep his mouth shut apparent on his straining jaw. Giving a final ‘I hate you’ look at Raven, he turned around and left the room through the door that led to the main part of the kitchen.

The room served as a pantry, large enough to accommodate the numerous members of the kitchen staff that prepared meals for Mecha. Steel shelves and cupboards covered the walls, except on one side where a harsh shine, gave away the steel door that guarded the freezer compartment. Nygel was sitting on the only chair in the room, next to one of the long working surfaces that crowded the center of the room. Raven walked around the mess to the freezer to check her slim figure on the reflection, stopping in front of the seated woman.

“The little bird is here. Long time no see. I was beginning to think you flew away in that fancy new suit of yours,” Nygel finally started. “Then again, where would you go, right?”

“Aww. You thought about me? Be careful Nygel, people might think you actually care.” Raven undid her ponytail and run her fingers through her straight brown hair.

“Oh, I do care, Raven. I care deeply about my clients’ satisfaction. I care so much that I would go to any lengths to make sure they get what they were promised. And I expect the same care from them.” She placed the now bare potato and the knife in the basin that was resting on her lap. She moved the basin on the table in front of her and wiping her hands on her apron, she stood up, towering over Raven. She took her glasses off and let them hang from her neck, before giving a long stare at Raven, who was now working on a side-braid. “I do enjoy the perks of having a client as… scrappy as you Raven, but be careful. The moment you stop honoring our deals, is the moment you too become dispensable.” Okay, pleasantries over. Raven, however, had been dealing too long with Nygel to be phased by her.

“I have something that will more than cover what I owe you.” A final look on her reflection filled her with some much-deserved hair-confidence. “But I need time to have it declared broken,” she added, pulling her hair back on a ponytail.

“You know I don’t move tools or parts anymore Raven. They’re too easy to track and Kane is just looking for an excuse to have me floated,” said Nygel. But her normally convincing indifference was undermined by the fact that she had hesitated. And Raven had noticed. With a final tug at her ponytail, Raven started to walk away.

“I’ll keep the electric screwdriver for myself then. Maybe do some remodeling. I swear the feng shui of my bed is all messed up,” she said as she reached the door and pulled it open, not wavering even for a moment. Nygel’s muffled voice slipped through the closing door.

“Alright. Come by after dinner.”

Yup, she still got it.

***

As soon as she stepped inside, the two guards standing on the other side of the room gave her a onceover, hands flying to their shock batons.

“Really, Raven? You couldn’t have left your tools in your room?” Margo was staring at her utility belt from behind her desk in front of the main entrance of the Sky Box.

“I would have been late. What, afraid I might be hiding a knife in plain sight?” The guards didn’t make a move towards her but watched her carefully as she removed her belt and handed it over, along with her ID card. “Besides, you’ll make me strip anyway, so why bother?” Without waiting for a response, she stepped in the changing room. She knew the drill.

“It’s not my fault you thought it was a good idea to sneak herb inside and share it with the prisoners,” Margo whispered when she caught up with her.

“It was an anniversary gift. And is this how you thank me for making your work easier? Finn told me no one gave you any trouble for like three days.” That earned her a friendly but not so gentle push, before Margo closed the door behind them. Most of the time, Raven couldn’t or wouldn’t help her attitude. She was the sum of her life’s hardships, held together by sheer will. Ridiculing life, _this_ life, was a matter of survival to her. What she did offer Margo, was her full cooperation during the check, uninterrupted by her usual abrasive comments or general stubbornness. That was the only apology she could offer.

“You’re clear,” Margo said as she stepped outside, no doubt to make sure the other guards had heard too. Raven wasn’t the only person that had benefitted from Margo’s kindness. She was too nice for her job, and people were beginning to whisper.

“Good to know!” Raven said as soon as she came out, after putting on the outfit Margo left for her. She snatched her ID card from Margo’s outstretched hand, held it in front of the scanner and watched the doors of the gate slide open.

“I won’t keep saving your ass forever, Raven,” Margo whispered next to her. Of course she wouldn’t.

“Take care of my babies for me,” Raven answered, giving a loving look at her belt that was resting behind the desk.

***

“Hey!” Finn’s face lit up as the cell door closed behind her. Raven barreled into his arms as he was getting up from his bunk, and they both fell awkwardly back down. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said, as soon as his lips were free from her attack.

“A screwdriver rebelled. I’m floating it first thing in the morning.” She held his face between her hands, her fingers tracing the lines she had memorized years ago, picking out the changes added by each week they spent apart.

“I’m sure you can find better uses for it,” he whispered between kisses on her palms. His longish-dark hair fell into his face and Raven smoothed it back, savoring the familiarity of the act she had missed so much.

“As a matter of fact, I already have,” she admitted, wiggling her eyebrows. He matched her mischievous smile with one that lit up his tired eyes. He was malnourished, like every other prisoner, and it was beginning to show. His skin looked even paler against her naturally tan hands.

“I’m not surprised. Or will I be? Should I expect another gift soon?” He was joking, she could tell, yet a tiny glimmer of hope broke through, a hope that came from knowing her for so long. There wasn’t much Raven Reyes couldn’t make happen if she put her mind on it. She hated she had to let him down this time. She hated their life had been diminished to hasty meetings, chaste, unsatisfying kisses and a possible death sentence threatening to put the worst possible end to their bitter story. She hated it all. She hated herself.

“Finn, you know I’d love to bring you some, but there’s nowhere I can hide it. Margo is being thorough with her checks. And I mean really thorough.” He cringed, all desire to joke gone in an instant.

“I’m sorry you have to go through that, Ray.” His mood visibly changed.

“Eh, it was worth it,” she said, making it extra perky in an effort to cheer them both up. “We had fun that day.” They both smiled at the shared memories.

“Not the ideal four-year anniversary I would have planned, but considering the circumstances, it was nice,” he agreed.

“Yeah, right. As if you ever plan anything. Besides, I’m pretty sure you peaked with last year’s birthday gift.” The last remark came out dryer than she intended.

“Well,” he begun, softly caressing her face, “we’ll have to wait for me to get out of here to find out.” He kissed her, and Raven relaxed against him, letting her hands travel down his neck and rest on his chest. His hasty heartbeat was the only source of relief to her perpetual loneliness. She missed this. She missed being kissed, being touched, being enveloped by the warmth of another body. His body. She deepened the kiss, needing to quench the dread that was now threatening to overwhelm her, encouraging his hands to start roaming her body. She gave them a few moments before reluctantly breaking the kiss and bringing her forehead to rest against his. They stayed there, pinning each other in place, catching their breath, until Raven did them both a favor and peeled herself off him. She sat on the bunk, putting a bit of distance between them. It was too easy to get carried away.

Finn broke the silence first.

“So, your 21st birthday is coming up. Have you come up with a fabulous way to parade your way into adulthood yet?”

“I’ll demand a conjugal visit,” she quipped, and was rewarded with his hearty laughter. At least one of them found their life amusing.

“So, on your first day as an officially recognized adult on the Ark, the place where even taking a few extra breaths is considered a capital crime, you plan to ask to spend the night with a minor delinquent, in a conjugal visit. And _I’m_ the one being held here? So unfair!” his attempt at humour had the opposite effect and it was too late to take it back. All her pent-up sadness just burst.

“You are here because you took the blame for me, when I went for an unauthorized spacewalk that spent two months’ worth of oxygen, just because I needed a lift-me-up when I thought I wouldn’t get the zero g mech license,” she said in one breath, her eyes shut closed to prevent the burning tears from falling.

“Do we have to go over this again, Ray?” He closed the gap between them and took her in his arms, leaving a kiss on her shoulder. “Enough with the guilt. I took the blame because the spacewalk was my idea. I set it all up for you, I talked you into to it, and it was my mistake that we didn’t make it out in time. I wouldn’t have let you take the fall.”

“And it was all for nothing. If we had just waited a day--”

“Ray, what happened, happened. I don’t regret it.”

She took a deep breath and returned the embrace, making a silent promise to herself to not cry. She hoped this would be the time she kept that promise.

***

Raven dragged her feet on the steel mesh floor that would lead her out of the Sky Box and back to her living quarter, where she would start counting the days all over again. The struggle to not let the tears leave the corners of her eyes felt less worthwhile with every step she took away from Finn. The sound of heavy boots on metal behind her was the only thing still holding her conviction in place, but her teeth were beginning to hurt from the effort to keep it together. She wiped a few stray tears, sniffing and blinking, as if that would stop the stream that was threatening to flow down her face and out of hand. She needed a distraction.

Forcing her attention on her surroundings, she looked over the railing on her right. There was a row of cells on each floor on either side of the Sky Box, and from where she was, on the second floor, she had a clear view of all the rows on the opposite wall. She tried to remember the doors that belonged to people she knew. More than she cared to count. Yet with all the visitors gone, and all the prisoners back in their cells for the night, there was a silence unfitting to a space with so many people.

The faint smell of food announced it was dinner time. She noticed food carts being pushed along the floors, each escorted by a guard who would open each cell door for the kitchen staff accompanying the cart to quickly leave a tray on the floor and move on.

“Hands behind your head. Face the wall. Move!” a guard somewhere in front of her barked. The reason for all this hostility was lost on Raven. Even if someone tried to escape, where the hell would they go? The cart next to him was wide enough that it took up most of the room on the railing. As she approached it, she turned her body sideways and squeezed herself between the cart and the railing. The maneuver had her facing the half-open door and she got a glimpse of the back of a blond head with long, slightly frizzy hair. What caught her attention however, was the large drawing on the wall next to her. The _drawings_ , on a second glance. The walls of the cell were a collage of hand-drawn flowers, faces, animals, trees. Raven’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t everyday she got the chance to see proper art, let alone as detailed and refined as what she was looking at.

“What are you staring at? Keep moving!” The bark pulled her out her reverie. This one was directed to her. She hadn’t realized she had stopped moving between the cart and the railing, obstructing everyone’s job.

“Geez, breathe man.”

He unsheathed the shock baton and turned it on, the all too familiar sound making the hair on her back raise. Right. Moving along then. She rolled her eyes, but did what she was asked, attempting a final look into the cell. But the door was already closing, and by the time Raven wiggled herself free, everyone had moved on.

The thought of the incarcerated mystery artist busied her mind all the way to the changing room, doing a good job of keeping her feelings down to a level of general discouragement. Well, maybe mild depression.

She had managed to pull her pants up one leg and was working on the other, when she spotted a blond head on a sitting figure at the opposite corner of the room. The unexpected -and quite filthy- visitor caused her to jump back, feet tangling in her pants, causing her to end up on the floor.

“What the fuck?” She looked at the young woman who was now standing, half-chewing, half-gawking at her in surprise. The woman’s eyes traveled down, and Raven couldn’t help but meet the bluntness with an equally bold comment. “Oh, I’m sorry! Would you like me to take off the rest too?” That seemed to do the trick. The woman immediately covered her eyes with one hand, at the same time coughing up the food that had gone down the wrong way.

“I’m so sorry! I was just surprised, is all,” she said once she had caught her breath. “Why does this keep happening to me?” Before Raven could answer something that would have anyone cringe in embarrassment, Margo’s voice interrupted her through the door.

 _“Raven? Did you call?”_  The stranger froze. Raven wasn’t sure what to do. She heard Margo’s steps approach and watched as the woman’s free hand frantically motioned for Raven to not give her away.

 _“Raven, are you dressed?”_ Margo asked again, this time her voice was loud and clear. She was right outside the door. With a final look at the woman who was still covering her eyes, but was now completely still, Raven decided.

“Uh… No, Margo, sorry. I, uh, I just tripped and kinda fell on my butt here, but I’ll be out in a minute.” The woman gave her a thumbs up with her free hand and Raven stood up and quickly put on the rest of her clothes. “I’m dressed,” she finally whispered, and the woman uncovered her eyes.

“Uh, hi. I’m Clarke.”

“Raven Reyes,” she answered cautiously, scanning the blond woman with the very blue eyes and the very filthy clothes. “Clarke? As in Clarke Griffin? The daughter of Abbigail Griffin, lead doctor, member of the council and all that jazz?” Clarke nodded. “Didn’t they lock you up, after they floated your f…” Raven’s manners remembered their reason for existing. Huh, she didn’t even know she had any. Better late than never. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke gave her a displeased nod, then looked around her. “Is this… were you visiting someone in the Sky Box?”

“I was, but shouldn’t we be working on the more obvious issue here? Shouldn’t you be in your cell?”

“Uh yeah, about that. Lately I have a newfound… tendency to appear in random places. Often, within other people’s personal space,” she added, giving Raven an apologetic look. “One moment I was in my cell, enjoying my meal, mulling over my lonely existence and the next you were tripping over your pants.”

“I did _not_ trip over my pants! I was defending myself against imminent danger.” Raven met Clarke’s raised eyebrow with a burning glare.

“And the weirdest thing is, it’s not the first time this has happened to me,” Clarke went on.

“Girl, I don’t know how often they feed you in there--”

“You know what, I’m not doing the QA thing all over again. See for yourself.” Clarke grabbed her wrist and pulled her along, as she walked towards the wall. Just before her face hit the wall, the entire room changed. Raven’s eyes struggled a little to adjust to the darkness, but soon she realized she was inside a cell. She recognized the drawings from before. Oh, this was beyond trippy.

“No way! I passed in front of this cell minutes ago, on my way out! I even stopped and stared, because you don’t see art like this around here, not live at least, you know?” Clarke simply nodded and watched her as she walked around the cell. “I am either going crazy or my genius brain is experiencing some serious leveling up. The first could be a potential problem,” Raven mused as she admired the remarkably detailed pictures of natural landscapes and faces. “Did you make these?” she asked, stopping in front of the profile of a woman with a wavy mane fashioned in intricate braids.

“Yeah. There’s not much to do around here,” Clarke answered. “So, this has never happened to you before?”

“I’m not even sure it’s happening now.” Raven lightly traced a long curl on the wall with her finger, then rubbed her fingers together to remove the lingering charcoal. That explained Clarke’s clothes. “Did I smoke something earlier and I forgot?” she wondered under her breath.

“I know the feeling. The first time it happened to me, I fell asleep and when I woke up, listen to this, I was ON. THE. GROUND. in the middle of a forest, in some warrior woman’s bed. And then she appeared out of some trees and she grabbed me--”

“Whoa girl! Look, I get it. Since Finn got arrested, I haven’t gotten any either. It’s not easy. And if dreaming of hot fighter chicks helps you, I celebrate you. But please, spare me the details. We just met.”

Much to her surprise, Clarke laughed. She had to admit, the ‘princess’ was proving to be quite different from the image the rumors tried to paint her. Then again, no one got arrested for being too uptight.

“Doesn’t this feel real to you?”

Raven honestly did not know how to answer that. Her senses were resolute: the cool surface of the wall, the pungent smell of questionable food and stale sweat, the bumps on the cracked wall and the charcoal traces on her finger. Her mind, however, was having some trouble reconciling. And that _never_ happened. “I have to say, this is a hell of a hallucination.”

 _“Raven, what are you doing in there?”_ Margo’s voice had her turn and suddenly she was back in the changing room. Clarke was gone. She shook her head and swiftly went for the door. She would have plenty of time to think about the possibility of her brain popping, later.

“Sorry Margo, I hurt my ankle a bit when I tripped. I was just checking if I should go to med bay,” she lied, silently congratulating her fast thinking. One of her many charming traits.

“Do you need help?” Margo looked concerned.

“No, I’m fine.” Raven gave her a reassuring smile and walked out of the changing room. “I think,” she said to herself, shaking her head.

***

The tip of the soldering iron smoked briskly as a tiny drop of liquid lead found its way around the wire and solidified. That should do it. Satisfied, Raven placed the iron back on its station and sat back to admire her masterpiece. The electric screwdriver lay on the desk, belly open, its insides jutting in all directions, creating a jumbled mess indecipherable to the common eye. Raven, however, the masterful surgeon of all things metal, knew exactly what she was looking at and was celebrating another successful operation.

She spent a long moment with her cigarette and the soothing sound of the warm paper burning near her skin. Putting the butt of the joint out, she swallowed the smoke, before slowly letting it out, savoring the light buzz she felt all over her body. The persistent headache of the last few days was gone, along with all her worries. Nygel had outdone herself this time.

She would have to let the smolder dry before reassembling the tool, so she turned off the lamp on her workstation and stood up, waving her hands around her to help the lingering smoke disperse faster. After hiding all evidence of the illegal operation under a loose metal sheet on the floor, she bit on a screwdriver and pulled her chair to the middle of the room. Once on top of it, she reached for the smoke detector. A couple of turns on each loose screw and the red light was blinking vividly once again.

“Where am I?” the voice that pierced through the herb induced haze made Raven jump. She lost her footing and fell backwards. That was the end. What an inglorious way to leave this world so young-- She registered falling on something solid but soft. When big, strong arms hugged her, an alarm went off in her head that sobered her up instantly.

“Don’t touch me you creep!” she bellowed, pushing the intruder away. She remembered the screwdriver in her hand and turned the pointy thing at him, wearing the most menacing look she could master. “How’d you get in here?”

“I don’t even know where here is,” the man answered, throwing his hands up and taking a nervous step back. He kept looking around, seeming more scared by his surroundings than by the woman with the pointy thing in front of him.

Raven scrunched her eyes and took a better look at him, his clothes -was that dust covering his pants?- his black hair tied on a bun, his neck tattoo that branched out around his neck and disappeared under his shirt, his Asian eyes and marvelously prominent cheekbone struc… Hold that thought. His tattoo? No one on the Ark had tattoos. What the…? Her eyes flew at the little packet of herbs lying tauntingly on her desk behind him, but her mind went straight back to her first transcendental trip of the day. Oh, what the heck. Crazy it was.

“Hi, I’m Raven,” she decided, lowering her make-shift weapon and offering her free hand along with a wide smile, smoothly diffusing the charged silence. Another charming trait of hers. The man tentatively shook her hand.

“I’m Sonam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think of Raven?  
> I found being in her brain trickier than being in Clarke's for some reason.
> 
> So, we've met 4/5 members of our cluster, one more to go.  
> The next chapter will have a bit of group action, I think, and things will start going downhill (for Clarke at least).
> 
> If you find mistakes/inconsistencies, I'll happily correct them, if you let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. I'm always looking for betas, if you're up for it, let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... long. Work, life, the muses. All arbitrary variables. I promised myself I'll try harder next time.
> 
> As always, I don't have a beta. I'll happily correct any mistakes you point out to me.
> 
> Enjoy! :) 
> 
> If you want some music to listen to while reading, you might like my [Clexa/Sense8 Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqxWGl61p28&list=PLj3NBd4LcjIiqjhT8WBzmRByZkotbHro3).
> 
> Find updates, teasers and music playlists for this fic on [clexasense8au](https://clexasense8au.tumblr.com/).

Soft locks grazed her face as he leaned down and lightly teased her lips with his own, only to pull back when she tried to capture them. He hovered over her, gazing into her eyes. His naked skin was flush against her trembling body, and her saturated senses were threatening to send her over the edge with every touch. She was losing her patience.

She ran her fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer, commanding him to give her what she wanted with her lips. Braking the kiss, he met her daring look with that smile she adored. In one swift move he turned her around, so she was now face-down on the bed. She gripped the bed’s headboard, bracing herself in anticipation.

A heavy knock on the door, followed by the sensation of a furry pillow against her face and the dryness of her mouth, was how reality greeted her. As her consciousness gradually transitioned from the weightlessness of her dream to the heaviness of her body, she desperately tried to cling on to the fading figure and the sweet and spicy scent of his body.

The _scent_? Of _his_ body?

That realization slapped Lexa awake.

With a groan, she dragged her hands upward and placed her palms next to her shoulders, pushing her face away from the furry pillow to get a better view of the bed.  She cringed at her own predicament: naked —how or when exactly, she didn’t remember— lying face-down on the bed, legs spread awkwardly, sheets partly covering them. Great. Thank Becca she had insisted on being awakened by a knock on the door, instead of having people barge in whenever they deemed it was an appropriate time for her to start her day.

Grumbling, she buried her flushed face in the pillow, while blindly searching between the sheets for her undergarments and nightgown. She wasn’t surprised to find all pieces were still on the bed, pushed around and buried under the covers. She fished them out and put them on with as little movement as possible, then turned around to lie on her back, pushing away the covers completely.

The unexpected relief she felt from the change in temperature brought to her attention how hot she felt. She scooted to the other side of the large double bed, where the unused sheets were blissfully cool, and sloppily pushed her mass of hair higher on the pillow, giving her sweaty neck a chance to breathe. She peered through heavy eyelids to confirm the room was still mostly dark, the only source of light the few candles that hadn’t died down. It was mid-autumn and the sun wasn’t even up yet. Where was all this damned heat coming from?

As if rushing to answer that question, her mind served her flashes of the dream she had been pulled from, the images of naked bodies and wet kisses highlighting the source of that heat between her legs. Her eyes opened wide as a wave of pleasure coursed through her body, so intense, it made her back rise from the bed. Her heart was racing, as much from arousal as from worry. Was this normal? She hadn’t even touched herself.

Not that touching herself was something she did often, nor something she particularly enjoyed. This kind of biological need was an inconvenience, a bodily function she had learned to regulate like every other, satisfying it every once in a while, on her own, without much consideration. That was precisely why, it was never pronounced in her body and why its intensity this time was alarming. Maybe it was something she ate the night before? Some foods were known to have such effects.

When another wave of arousal cut her mental rant short, Lexa’s hand decided for her and took a quick path down her body, with every intention of dealing with the nuisance and letting her get on with her day.

“Forgive me, Heda.” The rough voice startled Lexa, who tried to cover herself, but got tangled in the sheets and ended on the floor with an inelegant thud. At least she didn’t yelp. “The maids are here. Should I let them in?” The guard’s voice had come through the closed door, but the weathered materials and cracked glass made it sound as if he had been next to her.

“Yes, Leo, let them in,” she said, relieved no one had seen that little show of gracelessness. She quickly climbed back on the bed and hid under the covers, hoping to conceal her flustered face and gain some time to collect herself. If the early wake-up wasn’t enough of a sign there had been some kind of change in the day’s schedule, the maids being sent to her, instead of being summoned by her after she had greeted the sun, meant that her day was going to be long.

From under the covers she waited for the composition of sounds that played along the practiced choreography with which the Commander began her day. The brusque creak of the door as the older maid entered first, then the high-pitched riff of the trolley carrying the heavy container of steaming water past the bed and into the bathroom. Seven demanding strides, a soft swish of curtains being pulled open, another two demanding strides and the cheerful staccato of water being poured from the jug to the bassinette.

Having someone else perform simple actions she was perfectly capable of doing herself if and when she wished to, profoundly irritated Lexa. Today, however, she was thankful for the woman’s polite effort to keep busy until she was ready to rise.

Willing any remaining hesitation away, she decided there was no time for complaints. Her body would just have to conform, like it did with everything else. She gave the covers a final push and sat up at the edge of the bed, the cold tile under her feet a different kind of pleasure than what her body was craving, yet soothing and encouraging. She was fine. It was just another day.

It was only after Lexa had joined her at the vanity, that the woman spoke.

“Heda, the naitbleedas will be training earlier today, for you are expected at the meeting hall before noon. King Dyami of the Shallow Valley arrived late last night and has requested a meeting,” she said, while pouring water to the mug Lexa held out to her, before gently placing the jug on the vanity and resting her hands in front of her. Lexa found herself wanting to ask why. What was so important the meeting couldn’t wait a couple of hours. But she knew better than to show any kind of irritation over her duties to her maid.

“Thank you, Sayen.” Lexa took a seat at the vanity and looked at her tired reflection and untamed mane. Sayen was maybe the only person in the world who ever saw her in this state. If it were up to Lexa, no one ever would.

“Would you like for me to wait here while you bathe?” came the usual question that still managed to grate on Lexa’s nerves. After seven years of being Commander she had gotten used to being followed around all day long, her every move scrutinized. Peaceful mornings and private evenings were her demanded compensation, one she had insisted upon as a way to maintain some sense of self.

“I need some time, Sayen. I will call you when I’m ready,” she answered, keeping her voice calm. The woman was only trying to do her job, no doubt following Titus’ orders. Sayen bowed and went to stand next to the door to wait for the other maids to finish drawing Lexa’s bath. Only when the door closed behind them, did Lexa let the muscles on her shoulders relax. The sigh that left her mouth was loud and angry, as if her body decided to expel at once all the pent-up resentment against her rule over it. It wasn’t like her to be so agitated. But her body had obviously decided to rebel, the damned heat was impossible, and her mind was so unfocused. Her thoughts came and left hasty and fragmented, blending with each other like a cacophonous chatter during a feast.

She downed the water and refilled the mug, wondering how much activity during her sleep had her so dehydrated. At the thought of the dream, a new wave of heat reminded her of the persistent nuisance she hadn’t taken care of.

She was about to drink again, when she spotted movement on the bed behind her through the mirror. Blinking, she looked again, only to find there was nothing out of the ordinary. She hastily gulped down the second glass of water and pulled a leather hairband out of a drawer. After tying her hair up, she splashed generous amounts of cold water on her face. She dropped her head on the wooden surface and let her wet hands rest on the back of her neck, savoring the relieving sensation of droplets running down her spine.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck raise, right before she heard something that sounded a lot like a male voice somewhere behind her. Instinct immediately took over. In one swift movement she grabbed the mug and stood, spinning around and using her foot to topple the stool on its side, creating a barrier between her and her possible assailant.

But the room was empty. She was standing there alone, threatening to throw the mug to no one. Strange. The voice had sounded like it was close, probably somewhere between her and the bed. She cautiously walked around the bed and through the arc that led to the bathroom. When she came back to the main chamber having found no one, lethal mug still in hand, she was beginning to consider that maybe she was just feverish. That would explain the heat, the thirst, and the irritability, not to mention the possible hallucinations. She wasn’t feeling sick, though. Whatever it was, she clearly was too scattered to begin her day. Training would have to start without her.

She changed into a pair of leggings and a tight top that allowed for comfortable movement and walked out on the balcony. When the wind hit her, she did not flinch, nor did she close her eyes. She was craving for the cleansing sensation on her skin. She walked to the edge, placing her hands on the cool marble balustrade and taking in the view. The first morning rays of sunlight were just beginning to add color to the capital that lay far below, like a vast miniature mockup of the city of Polis spreading around the Commander’s tower to every direction between the mountains and the ocean.

Lexa breathed in the majesty that was her city. Even so early in the morning, without the bustle, the scents of burning wood and baking bread, flavored with the freshness of the forest and the saltiness of the ocean, carried the promise of the life that was soon going to fill the empty streets. Life. It was all about life. About keeping her people alive. Surviving. Every life counted. Every person counted. They had come so far; _she_ had guided them so far. Far from a reality of endless war and bloodshed. And this city was the hallmark of the new world she wanted to create, turned from a place of fear to a beacon of hope; a center of dialogue and progress. The heart of the Coalition.

But they still had a long way to go. And she had to be the one to guide them to the end. To peace. But first, she had to find her own peace. At least for the day. Greeting the morning sun was one of the first daily practices she was taught when she began her own training as a naitbleeda, and her favorite. A practice of breathing and stretching the muscles to gently awaken the body and properly align the mind for the day to come.

Stepping on the mat, she brought her awareness to the comfortable sensation of the soft material on the soles of her feet. She lifted her toes, spread them, set them down, grounding her foundation and better distributing the weight of her body. With three slow breaths, she expelled every thought from her mind, before consciously activating every muscle of her body to engage in the practice.

On an inhale, her arms stretched to her sides and swept upward, until they faced each other above her head, reaching for the sky. With a forward bow on the exhale, they traveled back down, until her palms found the mat on either side of her feet, her chin touching her shins. Another inhale and a half-way lift of her upper body flattened her back parallel to the ground.

Her exhale was mirrored by the ghost of a breath against her cheek, followed by a warm wetness that immediately rekindled the doused fire in her body. Her eyes closed involuntarily, as the warmth traveled down, leaving kisses on her neck and—

No. _No._ She kept breathing.

Bending her knees and planting her palms firmly on the ground, she stepped her left foot back, then the right, bringing herself to a high plank. She slowly lowered her body to the level of her elbows, before letting her hips sink into the ground and pushing her upper body upwards, her face toward the sky.

The kisses now trailed her collarbone, invisible fingers moving to push the strap of her top out of the way. Her own lips betrayed her letting a soft moan escape, as more fingers gave a deliciously slow pull on her hair that had her head lean back.

Her eyes shot open. When had she even closed them? She shook her head and concentrated on her practice.

Ignoring the ghost touches and the tingling sensation on her skin, she focused on her core. Facing downward, she lifted her hips toward the sky and moved into a wide forward bend, hands and feet firmly planted in the ground. She swayed left and right, widening her stance, savoring the burning sensation along her hamstrings.

A ruffling sound behind her made her look between her spread legs, through the open glass doors and on the bed. Something was moving, and although she was looking at it upside down, she was fairly sure it looked like a moving body. Two bodies moving. Two _naked_ bodies moving. Moving in what seemed like—

This time she did yelp, as she lost her balance and planted her face on the floor. When she managed to look at the bed again, there was no one there. Her own baffled reflection was looking back at her from the glass door, spilled on the floor, half-concealed behind the jungle of hair that was now loose and whipping her face, spurred on by the wind. And the strap of her top _was_ hanging loosely down her arm. This was getting ridiculous.

Bath. She needed a cool bath. All thoughts of morning practices and breathing techniques cast away, Lexa bolted to the bathroom. Her clothes hit the floor and she started towards the tub, hoping the water would have cooled down by now, but doubting anything other than lying on a block of ice would prove adequately potent.

Her reflection in the tall mirror had her stop dead. Her wide eyes forgot how to blink at the jaw-dropping image of a slender man, as naked as her, kneeling in front of her. Soft rays of morning light dappled his tan back, making him look almost ethereal as his hands boldly roamed her body. She took a blind step backwards in reflex, hitting the edge of the tub, and looked down to confirm she was alone in the room. Yet when she gazed back into the mirror, the man was still there, and she could now _feel_ as well as see his hands on her backside. And they were definitely not ethereal.

She never got the chance to analyze the scene any further. His lips started trailing kisses down her navel and his hands moved to map her toned stomach, cancelling her weak effort to regain control of her body. All the desire she had been trying to deny came back with a vengeance as his mouth nestled between her legs, instantly awakening an overwhelming sensation she hadn’t felt in so long, that turned her into a light-headed whimpering mess, eyes squeezed shut.

She vaguely registered her hands finding his hair and grabbing on, but she was too far gone to even care to question how. All she could do was surrender to the inevitable, as his tongue steadily fueled the fire that was now gradually claiming every cell of her body. The moment his fingers joined, her back arched and she was lost in a stream of throaty moans and curses, as she got lost in the most intense release.

When she finally managed to will her eyes open, there was no other evidence of what had happened, but her erratic heartbeat and unsteady limbs. No man in the mirror, no foreign hands on her skin. Stunned beyond words and still trying to catch her breath, she slowly lowered herself in the lukewarm water of the tub.

As her thoughts began to make sense of the world again, a wave of embarrassment washed over her, when she remembered Sayen, who was supposed to be waiting outside to tend to Lexa’s hair. Sliding further down the tub, she let the water engulf her completely, seriously debating the importance of her presence in the training grounds and the meeting hall. Or anywhere else in Polis. Or the Kongeda.

***

The click of the door closing behind her gave her muscles permission to finally relax. The clasps and pins of her ceremonial armor dug into her back, as she leaned back to rest against the door. But she didn’t mind. The silence was bliss. A long day full of thinking and talking and of Titus whispering advice in her ear even in between meetings, had come to an end. Her fingers found the strap on her chest that held her pauldron in place and released the clasp, and Lexa sighed as if she had just been freed from heavy chains.

Pauldron and coat neatly set on the mannequin next to the door, she walked over to the vanity, feeling much lighter without the burdens of her people on her shoulders. The macabre mask of the Commander greeted her as she sat in front of the mirror and reached for the towel. Her hands moved on their own, one removing the Eye from her forehead and the other dipping the towel into the water.  She begun to wash off the black mask painted on her face, glancing behind her through the mirror every now and then, half-expecting to find someone there.

She wasn’t obliged to wear warpaint while in Polis, except for ceremonies and special occasions. But after the tub incident in the morning she had felt it would help her regain her composure. And maybe hide her frustration if she continued having ‘symptoms’ of whatever was going on in her body. Naturally, nothing had happened. After she had gotten out of the tub and gone through an uncomfortable silent session of hair-braiding, she was back to normal.

With a few practiced sweeps, she cleaned one side of her face and shifted to work on the other, when she met her own eyes in the mirror. Even though it was something she deliberately avoided, she couldn’t help but pause and look, captivated by the dichotomy that was staring back at her. On one side, the Commander, confident, unwavering, ruthless. A side of her she had grown so comfortable wearing, being her now felt something between habit and necessity.

On the other side, from under the paint had immerged someone who looked a lot like her, but foreign at the same time. Narrowing her eyes, she neared the mirror, finger pads walking the raw skin around her eye. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually looked at herself beyond the time preparing her outfit demanded. She definitely didn’t remember having so many freckles. It probably was a natural outcome of training every day of her life under the sun, just like the tiny spots and creases sprinkled on her cheeks and forehead. But her eyelashes used to be much fuller, long and dense even without makeup. And was this dull shade of green in her eyes the same that Costia used to love so much?

Chastising herself, she did quick work of the remaining paint, before getting up and turning her back on the mirror. These mysterious hallucinations were throwing her off balance. First the girl in the forest that supposedly fell from the sky. Then the intense erotic dreams that didn’t stop when she awakened. And with a _man_. In all her life, she had only been interested in women. Then again, it had been a few years since she lost interest in such matters. Maybe she had changed more than she had realized.

The Spirit would know what was going on. Maybe the Commanders were trying to tell her something and she just wasn’t listening properly. If she were being honest with herself, she had avoided asking the Spirit about Clarke. There was something about the girl, about the pleasantness and intimacy she had felt near her, that had unnerved Lexa. She was used to maintaining detached relationships with people that were based on necessity or a mutual practical goal. _Wanting_ to be close to someone was something she was not prepared to feel.

Lexa sat on the floor in front of her bed, assuming the position she had been taught was optimal for her connection with the Spirit. A posture ideal for keeping her spine erect and breathing deep, one that had become comfortable through countless hours of practice, of falling asleep during practice and being awoken by angry lashes on her back. The Fleimkeepa had been right. It had helped with her posture immensely.

Closing her eyes, Lexa took a few long and calming breaths to clear her mind and slow her breathing. Unsure of how to phrase the question, she just emptied her mind and let the Spirit tell her what she needed to know.

“Mens mea fiat mens tua,” she whispered the mantra that aligned her mind with the Spirit.

Images flooded her mind, and as always, she remained patient, not judging or drawing any conclusions, but waiting for them to fall into place and reveal the story. Flashes of Becca and other Commanders, random images of people in pain, of people attacking other people, of men and women strapped down on metal beds, screaming in agony. Nothing but random flashes of violence and blood and pained cries that kept repeating themselves over and over, until Lexa opened her eyes.

Through labored breaths, she tried to remember when was the last time the Spirit hadn’t given her a clear message. Never. The images were surely valid, the Commanders wouldn’t show them to her otherwise. It was probably her scattered mind that was causing the problem. She would have to concentrate on something more specific. With the excuse it was the needed course of action, Lexa allowed herself to do what she had been avoiding: She closed her eyes and focused on the girl named Clarke.

“Mens mea fiat mens tua,” she whispered once again.

“Are you… meditating?” At the familiar voice, Lexa couldn’t help a half-smile.

“I often seek advice with the Spirit of the past Commanders.” She kept her eyes closed, feeling unprepared to meet the blue eyes that had her debating with herself over her sanity for days.

“And here I thought you were seeking me.” The charming rasp was now colored with a hue of amusement and a teasing tint that made Lexa’s heart skip a beat. When had she become so interested in voices? Or colors for that matter.

“It seems I keep finding you regardless of what I seek.” Powering through the nervousness, Lexa finally opened her eyes. All it took was a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile, for her trained composure and otherwise iron discipline to betray her. “Maybe the spirits know better about what I seek than I do,” she whispered, and the warm smile that spread on Clarke’s face outshone every shadow of uncertainty for the confession her mouth had taken the liberty to share.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Commander,” said Clarke, with an exaggerated bow. “Let me give you the grand tour. This is my fabulous bed, above it you can see a tiny window with a grand view, and over there is a locked door,” she gestured around.

“Locked. Are you a prisoner?” Her interest was picked even more, when Clarke nodded. Thankful for the distraction, Lexa gladly allowed her tactician’s instincts to take over and read her surroundings.

Almost every one of her senses had something to say about the room. The cell was much smaller than the prisoner cells in Polis and completely isolated, with no bars, only the solid metal door Lexa doubted opened often. The window was truly small, and even though it was made of nothing but glass, there was no visible way to open it. The air felt strangely stale, almost empty, neither cold nor particularly warm. Even the smells that every cell naturally gathered were faint compared to what she was used to. The most prominent feature of the cell however, was the display of drawings covering almost every inch of the walls around her. Remembering Clarke’s smudged clothes from the last time they met, she did not doubt who the artist was.

“Where is that sound coming from?” she asked about the hum whose source she couldn’t name. Clarke seemed to search for the sound for a moment, before pin-pointing what Lexa was referring to.

“It’s the air-recycling system. It’s how we can breathe in here.”

The drawing of a woman drew Lexa’s attention and as she approached to look closer, her already irregular heartbeat picked-up its pace a little more. Although only part of the face was visible, Clarke’s work was so detailed and precise that Lexa felt like she was looking in the mirror. She itched to ask about it.

“Is it constant?” she asked instead. She couldn’t imagine having to put up with this noise all day long. When the answer didn’t come, she turned to face Clarke and for a fleeting moment she caught intense eyes watching her trace the lines of the drawing.

“Yes. No one here even notices it anymore,” Clarke recovered with a shrug of her shoulders. “Although now that you mentioned it, I might start. Thanks for that,” she added, and they shared a smile that gradually died down to a silent stare, which neither of them seemed willing to break. Lexa became aware of the fact she had just appeared in the woman’s private space without warning. She wasn’t sure why she was even there, let alone if she was intruding, but she wasn’t ready to leave either.

“Come. See what your home looks like from above,” Clarke saved her from having to think of something else to say and climbed on the bed. Standing on her toes, she reached for the window and looked back at Lexa, urging her with a gesture to follow. Lexa’s boot sunk in the mattress not more than an inch before finding solid surface, and she pushed herself up. Mirroring Clarke, she gripped the window sill and looked outside.

After being seeped in the horrors of war for so long, there weren’t many things that intimidated Lexa. The vast blackness she was met with, however, and the impossible sight of the Earth from afar looking exactly like in the books she had read, were unnerving even for her. At least her mind told her she should be worried, but Clarke’s calmness was contagious, and the warmth emanating from Clarke’s body was intoxicating, and Lexa was having a hard time concentrating on anything else.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Clarke cut through her thoughts. She forced herself to keep her gaze trained outside instead of on the girl on her right. And she was succeeding, until Clarke’s hand ghosted her own where it was resting on the sill. All desire to try flew right into the blackness of space and she turned to Clarke who seemed captivated by the strange globe in the distance. Her eyes were filled with reverence, and Lexa could relate, only she was not looking at the view from the window. Never in her life had she been so affected by another person.

When Clarke’s questioning eyes caught her watching her, Lexa realized the girl was still waiting for an answer.

“It truly is,” she finally said, unabashedly holding the weight of Clarke’s gaze, feeling neither interested nor able to hide how overcome she was by all the emotions she did not care to name or question. Clarke smiled shyly and quickly turned her attention back outside and Lexa had never felt lighter.

“I think we are too far away to see my home, Clarke,” she said, urged by a sudden giddiness so alien to her, she took a moment to identify it. A chuckle and a bump on her shoulder from Clarke before she turned and sat down on the bed, stopped any ideas Lexa had of pulling herself together. She could hardly persuade her body to move and sit beside Clarke.

“So, any news from the outside world?” Clarke asked, having found interest in the loose threads on the seam of the mattress.

“Several meetings with leaders and ambassadors, a never-ending series of requests from villagers and a few awkward looks from my personal guard.”

“Did you tell him you were talking to ghosts too?” Clarke’s raised eyebrow and teasing smile had to be the prettiest sight Lexa had ever witnessed. It took all she had to keep herself from smiling back.

“The past Commanders do talk to me, Clarke. They aren’t ghosts.”

“They are alive? I thought you said you talked to their spirits.”

“When a Commander dies, their Spirit chooses their successor. When I was chosen, I was imparted with the wisdom of all the previous Commanders. Their knowledge and experiences aid me in serving my people.”

“Are you talking about reincarnation?” Clarke was now looking at her like she had three eyes, and Lexa had to add that into her list of charming expressions of Clarke.

“Yes. Why? How are your leaders chosen?”

“By vote. My people do not associate spirituality with leadership,” Clarke said, and glanced away, thinking about it for a second. “But we do know of religions and philosophies of the old world and everyone here is free to choose if and what they believe in.” She was now swinging her legs back and forth, and Lexa caught herself smiling at the sight.

“What do you believe in?” she asked, because she wanted to learn more about Clarke, but mostly because she needed to concentrate on something else than discovering all the fascinating aspects of Clarke of the sky people.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine ceasing to exist after death, but to go as far as to believe in an afterlife or even reincarnation? It just doesn’t seem very possible.”

“What is possible, Clarke? Is me sitting here talking to you possible?”

“I’m still not sure what to make of this. I mean, I was lying on my bed thinking about my visit in the forest when you appeared. For all I know, I fell asleep and this is a dream.”

Lexa hadn’t realized how close her hand had come to Clarke’s. All she had to do was reach out with her fingers and—

“Lexa, can you hear that?” Lexa’s eyes flew up to Clarke’s face, as her ears searched for any new sounds. With her eyes closed, brows furrowed and a smile, Clarke was moving her head along what seemed like a silent tune. “Where is it coming from?” Lexa, who had yet to hear something, mirrored Clarke, closing her eyes and tuning into the sounds around her. She spotted it, finally.  A whisper of a melody, vaguely familiar but like nothing she had heard before. The longer she concentrated on it, the clearer and louder it became.

***

When she opened her eyes, she was welcomed by a dramatic change in scenery. She registered a few people standing around her, but her senses where immediately claimed by an invasion of new sensations. The colors overwhelmed her first. Rugs and carpets of gold and crimson covered every inch of the floors, and on the walls, large tapestries with shapes in every color imaginable came together to create intricate patterns framing unearthly figures; a human with the head of an elephant; a woman with impossibly blue skin and an alarming number of hands, that Lexa almost expected to see swaying along the alien melody that had somehow drawn her there.

Searching for the source of this mystical music, she noticed a figure sitting on the floor on one side of the room, separate from her and the other three people around her. The man was playing an intricate string instrument Lexa had never seen before. His face was hidden behind black longish hair and a thin veil of smoke, emanating from the incense that was burning next to him. Very different from the herbs her people burned, the scent only accentuated the otherworldly element of the scene, marking it into her memory with a distinct brand.

“Hey Griffin. You clean up well.” Opposite Lexa, a woman with brown hair and an assortment of what looked like tools around her waist, was trying to get Clarke’s attention by poking her shoulder with a finger. Clarke seemed just as dazed by her surroundings as Lexa felt.

“Hey Raven,” Clarke finally answered, reluctantly abandoning her venture to decipher the mysteries of the room and turning to the woman. “All good?” Raven simply nodded, as she was now waving to the man that was standing next to Lexa.

He was shorter and less muscular than most men and women of her people, yet he had the posture of someone who was in complete command of his body. And under his pulled-up sleeves she could see lean but strong forearms. At least one tattoo. But no warpaint. And his clothes looked too thin for the season, more like a few long pieces of cloth wrapped around him than anything else. He could be from the desert. He caught her looking at him and smiled, and Lexa thought he had a kind smile. She nodded her greeting and turned her attention back to the girls.

Clarke’s gaze seemed to take in the other people, before resting on Lexa long enough for Raven to start looking between them curiously. When Raven’s face lit up in recognition, Lexa felt the need to brace herself for what was coming.

“Hot warrior chick! Big fan!” Those were certainly not the words she was expecting to hear. Lexa was not sure how to react to a Raven who was now looking at her expectantly, with an outstretched arm waiting for a handshake and an enthusiastic smile that looked more comical with each moment her greeting went unanswered.

“Have we met?” She shook Raven’s hand tentatively, maintaining a serious and measured tone. This woman did not look like she should be given any encouragement.

“No, not in person, but Clarkey here has told me aaall about you,” she said, throwing a hand over Clarke’s shoulders, who jumped a little at the unexpected forwardness. As Raven went on, Clarke’s eyes gradually widened, “How she was in your bed and you pinned her down—”

“That’s not what I—” Clarke tried to salvage her rapidly drowning dignity, her face turning redder by the second.

“That’s _exactly_ what you said!” Raven interrupted her, squeezing Clarke’s face with her free hand and turning to Lexa. “She was so excited, I had to shut her up. No offence, but I did not need any graphic images playing over and over in my mind, you know? Although, your face does look familiar…” she trailed off, taking better notice of Lexa. “Oh shit! That was her on the wall, wasn’t it, Clarke?” Raven finally exclaimed, slapping Clarke’s arm with the back of her hand. “Did you know she drew you?” she said, turning back to Lexa who could not decide whether she should be amused by the show this girl was putting on or annoyed by the way she kept touching a clearly uncomfortable Clarke so bluntly.

Trying to ignore the surge of worry at the realization she cared who touched Clarke and how, she focused on giving an earnest, yet curt answer, hoping she would quench Raven’s curiosity and her need to continue this conversation.

“Yes, I have seen Clarke’s drawings. She is a gifted artist.” The fondness she felt as she was saying these words, was mirrored in Clarke’s widening smile.

“That, she is my friend, that, she is,” Raven answered wiggling her eyebrows, and as if time had stopped, everyone’s gaze followed her free hand as it slid under Clarke’s breast and pushed it up.

“You did not just do that,” said a now breathless and alarmingly red Clarke, looking down in disbelief, then at Lexa, who in reflex looked back at Raven, finding herself once again debating whether to laugh or clobber the girl. 

“I sure did,” Raven said, her lips barely moving, now frozen in what looked like a smile of painful realization. “I may have taken it a tad too far.”

“Raven, I swear, if you don’t take your hand off my boob in the next five seconds, I’ll—"

“Oh, come on, I barely even touched it. Just the underside a bit…"

‘Amused’ Lexa decided, as a loud and over-dramatic Raven intentionally kept riling a very flustered Clarke. On her right, Sonam was staring at his toes too embarrassed to look at the bickering girls, while the man still playing music seemed unbothered. As she watched these strange people, a fuzzy warmth crept up her chest and, before she had a chance to question its source or purpose, it enveloped her heart and filled her with comfort.

Like meeting with good old friends after a long time, these people had managed with their mere presence to undo the permanent knot in her chest. The knot that had become such an integral part of her existence, it felt uncomfortable now that it was gone, having given its place to a different feeling that came like an echo from the past. It took a few moments for her mind to find the word it hadn’t used in years. There, in a foreign room, among people she had never met before, she felt safe.

A polite cough pulled her from her thoughts. The others were already silently looking at the musician, and although his hands never stopped playing, the sound of his music was gentler as he spoke.

“Hello,” he said softly, looking at them one by one. “I am Narayan. We haven’t officially met, although I’m sure you must have had some encounters with each other by now.” Lexa couldn’t help but steal a glance at Clarke, that lasted much longer than intended when she caught Clarke looking back at her with a timid smile. “I have only interacted with Lexa,” Narayan continued, and it took Lexa a moment to realize it wasn’t Clarke that had said it. Her head snapped back at him, a new sensation now coursing through her body. If she didn’t know this man, why was she suddenly so nervous about where this was going?

“Do I know you?” she dared. He did feel familiar, but then again, they all did.

“Yes. A few hours ago. We had sex.”

The shocked silence that filled the room was broken by none other than Raven.

“Tsk. Clarke get a hold of your woman.”

“Raven will you shut up already? She’s not my—”

“We did not!” Lexa barked at Narayan, effectively silencing everyone else. Dread. She felt dread as she went through images of her dream and the hazy face matched the smiling one that was now looking back at her. The brown skin. The dark hair. Even the scent of the room she now recognized as the scent of the man in her dream.

“Oh, believe me, I was just as surprised to see you in my bed with my boyfriend and me. But I must admit, it was special.” There was no trace of mockery in his voice. A loud gasp brought everyone’s attention to Raven who had put on a bewildered expression and was looking between Lexa and Narayan.

“I object!” she bellowed, taking a step forward and throwing a hand in the air. “When did that happen? And why wasn’t I invited?” Lexa opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it again, letting Clarke deal with Raven by hooking a finger on the neck of her shirt and gently pulling her back next to her and shushing her. Lexa wasn’t used to being at a loss of words, and this woman was not helping with the additional images she had just thrown into her head. How was this even possible? She turned to Narayan for an answer, knowing fully well the question was obvious on her face.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this new reality myself, let alone figure out exactly how the connection works. I admit I might be the reason why you are all here right now.” Hoping for the explanation none of them was able to give, they all remained silent and waited for Narayan to elaborate.

“As you may have guessed, I am a musician. I play music every day, for myself and for others, and there’s nothing in the world I love more.” He spoke slowly, pausing every now and then to focus on his fingers that never stopped picking the strings. “I have this ritual. I start and finish my day with this particular piece. Maybe it’s the habit behind the act or maybe there’s something about this melody, but, for whatever reason, it brings me peace. It helps me center myself.

It usually starts off rigid. A series of notes with no emotion. As I tune into it, it takes on the color of my mood. Sometimes it’s angry, others it’s sad and others it flows with excitement. As the melody progresses, it’s as if it absorbs my mood, filters it, until all that’s left is… me. No thoughts, no emotions, just me, carried away by the melody.”

A sharp jab in her ribs had Lexa turn her head left to find Raven much closer to her. What was it with this woman and touching? Raven’s eyes were trained on Narayan, but her hand was making a gesture Lexa had never seen before, yet recognized to mean that the man was probably not very stable mentally. Rolling her eyes, she returned her focus on Narayan, ignoring how she had to fight to keep her smile at bay.

“Yet this past week, I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and play at all, because the last time I did, I had this inexplicable experience: a man appeared in front of me while I was playing. A man I had never seen before, even though I know everyone around here. A man with the darkest skin I have ever seen, and clothes almost as colorful as the traditional clothing we wear in special occasions here in India, but still different.”

“We are in India?” The high pitch in Clarke’s voice expressed perfectly the look on everyone’s faces.

“Yes. Well, more like under it.”

“A bunker?” asked Raven. The word gripped on Lexa’s heart; she knew exactly what it meant. She shared a look with Narayan and somehow, she must have communicated her concern, because his face considerably saddened.

“Yes,” Narayan answered the question Lexa never asked. “Your people are not the only ones suffering in the hands of those who cannot meet the sun.” Thankfully, he did not wait for her to respond. With the war waging between her mind and her chest, she would not know how.

“The man just stood there, in the middle of the room, smiling at me. He said nothing. He simply watched me play, and although my mind was preparing a barrage of questions, I felt strangely calm and safe, as if I had known this man my whole life. Then, as if I had spoken those questions aloud, he started talking.”

Lexa had to take a few steps back, when a man that looked a lot like what Narayan had described, appeared in front of them. A quick glance around told her she wasn’t the only one seeing him. Before she could say anything, the man started talking to Narayan, seemingly oblivious of everyone else in the room.

“You do not feel alarmed because your subconscious knows who I am and what my intentions are. It’s your conscious mind that is contesting that knowledge. My name is Amadi. I am very happy to see you for the first time Narayan and I truly regret it’s also going to be the last.” Inexplicable sadness overtook Lexa, while listening to the sweet man with the white hair and beard. She felt compelled to run into his arms, and let him hold her, as if his embrace had the power to ease all the pains in the world, but she did not dare to move for fear she might make him disappear. “I don’t have much time. Your mind is changing, and I am here to help you understand the new reality that you will begin to experience.

You are no longer just you. There are four other people in this world, with whom you are connected. When you were born, you shared your first breath. You were born the exact same moment in different parts of the world. Up until now you were oblivious of your connection with them, but that connection has now been awakened. You will begin to share your thoughts, your emotions, your skills and knowledge, your sensations. You will experience what they experience, and you will understand them beyond words. They are your other selves, and you are connected to them, just like I am connected to my other selves and to all of you, my children.” At the last word, Amadi gestured around him, and just as Lexa thought he was referring to them, a clone of herself meditating appeared, followed by a clone for every other person in the room. Each of these figures was wearing different clothes from its counterpart and seemed immersed in their own reality, oblivious of the old man and everyone else around them. That’s when Lexa realized, Amadi wasn’t really there, neither were the figures. They were a memory. Narayan’s memory or Amadi’s memory, she wasn’t sure.

“At that point,” Narayan said, “I saw all of you, in this very room, just like you are here now. But you weren’t aware of us.” His voice followed their father as he approached each of them, “You, Clarke, were lying there, on my bed. You were sedated, I think.”

“I had been having a really bad headache. They gave me something for it.” Clarke whispered, with a look of utter disbelief, as she watched herself lying on Narayan’s bed, in her dirty prison outfit, barely awake, mumbling nonsense to herself.

“They gave you a sedative for a headache? What did you do? Attempted to behead yourself?” Raven asked. “Although, I think they would be happy if you tried that. One less person to worry about.”

“I might have been a pain in their asses about it for a few… several days. That shut me up for good, though.”

“Then I saw you Lexa, sitting here on the floor next to me,” Narayan continued, following their father’s figure. “You looked like you were meditating.” Amadi put a hand on her head and gave her the warmest of smiles, but Lexa’s doppelganger was too deep in meditation to notice. “Then it was you Raven, on the floor over there. I think that batch of herbs was particularly strong.” They all smiled at the image of Raven lying on the floor, legs resting up on the wall, taking a good seep of her joint and almost disappearing in a thick cloud of smoke. Lexa could smell the faint scent of the herb. It really was like a memory.

“The new one is even better,” Raven quipped, and Lexa had to admire how the girl could muster any words when she herself was barely able to follow what was going on.

“Sonam, you were so sad,” said Narayan, as Amadi kneeled in front of Sonam’s image, who was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall. Streams of tears were pouring down his closed eyes and staining his face.

“That was the day I buried my sister,” whispered Sonam. “I remember feeling like there was someone there. I imagined her spirit was with me.”

“I could feel it all,” Narayan said, as the figures around them begun to fade. “The sadness, the calm, the desperation, the loneliness, that man’s love and joy for seeing us, his disappointment and fear for not being able to stay longer. It was all so unbelievable that my mind didn’t know what to do with it, so I held on to the only thing that was familiar to me at that point: the music I was playing. I kept playing my sitar to keep my conscious mind occupied. I was afraid that if I stopped, it would end.” At that, the song Narayan had been playing came to a gentle end. “And it did.” The memory ended too, and once again the five of them were alone.

“What happened to him?” Sonam voiced everyone’s question.

“I don’t know. He disappeared, and I never saw him again.”

The silence that followed was crowded with the thoughts they all shared but none had the clarity to speak. They didn’t need to talk about it to feel each other’s confusion, each other’s awe and disbelief. They stood frozen exchanging glances, until Narayan decided to play something for them. The soft melody begun, and one by one they sat down in a circle and listened.

***

The colorful room faded, and Lexa found herself back in the box in the sky, not having moved an inch from Clarke’s side on the bed. Taking advantage of Clarke’s still closed eyes, she let her own wander over Clarke’s face: her pale skin, her wistful smile and the beauty spot on her lip, her expressions that changed along with the music that still peered through their consciousness.

A light touch made her look down to find that their fingers, that had been resting hesitantly close before their trip to India, were now loosely intertwined. When it had happened, Lexa did not know. All she was aware of was the spark that was ignited by the touch and traveled up her arm and spread through her entire body, tainting her face with what she was sure was a fairly vivid tint of red.

Looking up, she found herself staring into impossibly blue eyes, and the air around her suddenly felt palpable, as if charged by the force of her attraction. If anyone was to enter the room, they would surely combust. If she moved an inch forward, she would definitely combust. The voice in her head that had spent the entire week trying to push all of Clarke out of her mind, was now but a whisper drowning in the cries of her whole body to lean in. And oh, how easy it would be. And Clarke must have sensed her struggle, because she did not move. She matched Lexa’s gaze with her own, steady but gentle, patiently waiting for Lexa to decide how to proceed.

Just when Lexa was about to win the debate with herself, the Commander played the last card; the one she only dared uncover when she knew she was going to lose; the one that brought forth the image that had driven Lexa to make the decision to lead a lonely life. In an instant, the reality of who she was, was burned behind her eyes, and she remembered why she was not in a position to play games with pretty girls. She was particularly not in a position to harbor any feelings whatsoever for said pretty girls. Or for anyone for that matter. Love was weakness. And Lexa’s weakness had already cost Costia’s life.

With her desire adequately doused, Lexa released Clarke’s gaze and carefully untangled their fingers, before standing. Using the drawings on the nearest wall as an excuse, she turned her face away from Clarke, to allow both of them a moment to recover. The shuffling sound that came from Clarke’s way a few moments later told her the spell had been effectively broken, and that Clarke was also trying to gather herself back to reality. A reality she unknowingly rubbed in Lexa’s face with her next question.

“Lexa, what did Narayan mean when he said your people aren’t the only ones suffering in the hands of those who cannot meet the sun?” The heaviness of the question was an impossible burden for Lexa’s shoulders after such a draining day. She was suddenly very aware of the walls around her, the unnatural light and the annoying hum. She needed to breathe real air. 

“I believe he was referring to the people of the Mountain,” she said, with a long exhale.

“You said something about a mountain the last time we met. Who are these people?” She did not wish to discourage Clarke from asking her anything, yet she couldn’t talk about her people’s greatest pain without being reminded of how much her failure to find a solution was costing them.

“They are a story for another day,” she decided. “I wish to show you something.” Lexa offered her hand, and Clarke took it without hesitation. Their surroundings changed once again, and they were back to Lexa’s chambers.

Even though an hour couldn’t have passed since she had sat to meditate, it felt like she hadn’t visited her room in days. She longed for the comfort of her bed, but she could forgo rest for a little longer for the pleasure of noticing which details in her room had Clarke’s eyes pause. How the dozens of lit candles that adorned the walls and hang from the ceiling caused her jaw to slightly drop. How her fingers absentmindedly slid on the back of the leather couch that sat in the middle of her room, as she walked towards the vanity. How, among all the trinkets and boxes there, Clarke picked the only box that contained paint and immediately dipped a finger to test its color and consistency.

“Come here,” Lexa reluctantly pulled Clarke’s attention before making her way to the part of the room she had turned into a study. She pulled a large wooden box from a cupboard, placed it on the desk and waited for Clarke to join her.

“You have quite the space here, Commander.”

“You should see the view from the balcony in the morning. It is truly breathtaking.” Lexa opened the box in front of her. “This is what I wanted to show you.” Lexa didn’t know exactly how long Clarke had been imprisoned but, judging from the amount of black drawings on the walls, she imagined she would appreciate the chance to use colors. What she hadn’t expected was for Clarke to pick a red pencil, bring it close to her nose and smell it. She watched intrigued as Clarke’s fingers traveled along its wooden body and tested the tip. The pencil left no color on her skin, and Clarke put it back down and picked a little bottle with liquid blue paint to explore next. This time, the scent had her pull back in surprise. “Have you used any of these before?” Clarke merely shook her head, too mesmerized with the box of wonders in front of her to look away.

“Supplies on the Ark are very limited. We recycle everything we have and only make things we really need. Colors are not among them.”

“These are quite rare,” Lexa said, pointing at the assortment of pencils, pens and markers. “We cannot make them. They are from the old world. Very few remain. The inks, the liquid colors and the dusts are made here in Polis from various ingredients. To use them, you need one of these,” she added, pointing at the brushes.

“But, why do you have all these? Do you paint?”

“I don’t. Most were gifts. Would you like to paint something?”

“May I?” Clarke was now looking at her like she had invented the wheel, and all Lexa could do was swallow past the knot in her throat and nod.

“They are all yours. Use anything you like.” Deciding to leave Clarke in peace to enjoy the art supplies, she picked a book from one of the bookshelves and sat on the couch. It didn’t take long for Clarke to join her, taking a seat on one of the armchairs, a few papers and colored pencils in hand.

Between the soft sound of Clarke’s colorful strokes on the paper and the occasional glances she dared over her book to watch her work, Lexa lost track of time.

A sudden pang of worry made her look away from the book, at Clarke who was looking over her own shoulder. The next moment, Clarke was gone, and Lexa found herself sitting where Clarke had been, holding the pencil Clarke had been holding. Was she in this chair all along? Before her mind had the chance to elaborate, the worry from a moment ago turned into fear. It was Clarke’s fear. Something was wrong, and Clarke needed help. As in reflex, she found herself back in the dark cell, where three armed men in uniforms were forcing Clarke outside.

Suddenly, all fear was gone. All Lexa felt was rage. With a blink of her eyes she was in Clarke’s position, barely outside the cell, one man holding each of her arms, another one behind her holding a stick. A slight turn and a kick to the left between the guard’s legs, brought him to his knees and loosened his grip enough for her to be able to pull her arm free. Using the momentum of the turn, she lowered her body and brought her right arm up, along with the other guard’s hands, passing under them and ending her move behind him, locking his right hand behind his back and twisting his wrist. She pushed him with all her strength on the guy holding the stick, letting go on the last moment and watched in surprise as his body started jerking uncontrollably and dropped on the floor, pulling the guard’s stick with him.

Not losing any more time, she went for the guy who was on his knees with an elbow hit that broke his nose and sent him breathless on the floor. A strong hand locked around her wrist and another grabbed a good chunk of her hair, before pushing her on the wall. The impact with the hard surface stunned her momentarily, and her vision blurred. Her body tried to move on its own, but the guard had her pinned. Through the haze she heard Clarke’s voice calling her name. Her bleary eyes made out Clarke’s face right in front of her, etched with worry as she tried to get Lexa to focus. As she remembered why she was there, a new surge of determination cleared the fog and her body knew exactly what to do. A kick on the guard’s knee, then the dry sound of bone breaking and an agonizing scream as the man went to the ground forgetting all about her.

Lexa turned to look for Clarke but almost collided with someone else.

“Clarke, how did you do that?” A woman Lexa had never seen before was staring right at her. As if that wasn’t strange enough, the woman —the name ‘Abigail’ came to her mind— threw her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and pulled her in a fierce hug. Over the woman’s shoulder, she saw Clarke watching the scene equally perplexed. The next moment they had switched places, and it was Clarke now in the woman’s arms.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Clarke’s panic returned to her voice at the sound of more guards rushing towards them from both sides of the railing. It was then that Lexa noticed the general commotion taking place everywhere around her. On every floor there were guards pushing people out of their cells.

“Wait!” her mother ordered the men coming for Clarke, who obeyed.

“We’re being executed, aren’t we? They’re reducing population.” Clarke was on the verge of crying, and Lexa felt prepared to kill every single person who dared come close.

“Clarke, they aren’t floating you. They are sending all of you to the ground.”

“What? But the ground is not…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at Lexa and reconsidered. “We don’t know if we can survive on the ground.”

Lexa barely caught a glimpse of a man in uniform pulling Abby back, away from Clarke, when a numbing pain she had never experienced before overcame her whole body, bringing her writhing on the floor. It only lasted a few excruciating seconds, but it was enough to freeze all thought and bring her back to her chambers in Polis.

As soon as the numbness subsided, she staggered up and concentrated on Clarke, hoping whatever force had brought them together before would do it again. When nothing happened, she thought of the next best thing: Raven. She was close to Clarke, maybe she could find out what was going on. Instinctively, she took a wobbly step forward and was greeted by the familiar hum of the Ark and a Raven who was still on the floor trying to recover. Maybe she could control this after all.

“What happened?” she asked, helping Raven stand on her feet.

“Shock batons.”

“I have withstood and overcome severe wounds all over my body, but I have never experienced pain as paralyzing as this.”

“Me neither,” Sonam said behind her.

“I second that.” A breathless Narayan was now next to him.

“Yeah, they have a kick. Clarke’s probably out. Maybe that’s why we can’t get to her?” Raven tried, but none of them knew for sure. “We’ll have to wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and of course comments make my day when they show up in my inbox!
> 
> Find updates, teasers, mood-boards and music playlists for this fic on tumblr: [clexasense8au](https://clexasense8au.tumblr.com/).
> 
> See you soon ^_^


End file.
